Too Pretty
by BulletsforValentine
Summary: A young soon-to-be Elvenking was captured and held by the orcs. The orcs were very creative as what to do with the pretty elf. From another prisoner's POV. Readers, you are chosen to review..


**Summary: A young yet-to-be Elvenking was captured by the orcs. In the dungeon, the orcs were very creative as what to do with this pretty creature. Another prisoner's POV. Reader, you are chosen to review.**

Disclaimer: On my profile.

**Diamond**

I didn't know how much time I'd spent in that cursed pit. I and my people were battling troops of orc in the Last Alliance, and we're loosing it. Half of my people were killed, while the other half fled to the West, helped by the elf troops. Several men including me were captured. Of eleven people brought here in orc's dungeon, I was the only one who survived. It wasn't because I was the strongest, but because I was a blacksmith and could repair their armors or weapons. And so I became their slave.

There were only eight cells in that dark dungeon. Orcs didn't need a lot of cells. They usually ate their prisoners, whether it's man, goblin, even dwarfs. They built four cells on each side of the alley. Across my cell there was a cell which contained an old dwarf who'd been there since I was taken. The other cells were empty, except for a cell beside the old dwarf, which held two grey skeletons which I assumed once were men.

It was hard to be a slave. An orc's slave nonetheless. I attempted suicide several times when I had the chance, but always, on the crucial seconds, I remember my daughter's smile and I couldn't bring myself to do it, for I still had a little hope to see her smile once again. So I remained there, with hardship and pain.

After my first month there, I thought I was going to be crazy. Beside me and that old dwarf, there were also times when we had fellow prisoners. But they were usually tortured to death and became meals for the orcs. I was always cautious when they gave me meat. I wouldn't eat it. God only knew what meat it was. Cold oat porridge was the entire menu beside meat on rare occasions. I tried to speak with the old dwarf, but could not get any respond. He must have lost his sanity after being trapped in this hell for too long. I thought I was going to be exactly like him.

Then, one night, they brought in just another prisoner. Just a glimpse and I knew he was an elf. The most gorgeous one I had ever laid my eyes upon.

He had been beaten brutally, judged by the bruises and cuts all around his body. Two orcs dragged him from the heavy metal door, pass my cell and then to the corner cell; the darkest one. The orcs threw him unceremoniously to the dirty stone floor. The elf's blonde hair covered his face, but I could see his blue eyes stared coldly to the guards. He spat blood to them, which of course, drove them to beat him even more. One even grasped his blonde hair and banged his head fiercely against the stone wall. When the elf dropped to the floor, the other orc stomped his back several time, all the while cursing in their vile language. Amazingly, though the elf shut his eyes off in obvious pain, no sound escape his mouth.

At last, when they saw the elf had lost his consciousness, they laughed hard and cursed some more before they lock the cell, walking proudly out of that grim dungeon. With that attitude, he won't last long, I thought. Elf preferred to die rather than to be a slave or a prisoner. They held pride above all. It was a mystery to me as why the orcs would trouble themselves to have him as a prisoner. They couldn't make him fixing their weaponry as they did me, or to tell them which one was the real gem like the dwarf sometimes did. An elf wouldn't do such thing. They would eat him soon, I thought.

The next day, as the elf regained his consciousness, I realize how much difference he brought there with him. His cell which used to be the darkest, now, it was the brightest one. I remembered the other elves who fight by our side. They radiated light as the sign of their otherworldliness. That way, I could see the elf clearer than before.

What surprised me even more was the sight of that enchanting creature inside the cell. The wounds had healed, leaving flawless white porcelain skin behind. His hair was those of threaded sun rays, draped down to his wickedly slim yet muscular waist. His limbs were imitations of young branch, soft to the touch yet surprisingly strong. But those weren't all. Behind his dark long lashes, lied the most enchanting part. Two deep icy blue orbs shone brightly, radiating freezing sensation to whoever saw it.

I gulped before I could control myself. This creature was exceptionally pretty. Too pretty I'm afraid.

I've seen lots of elven warrior, so I could tell that this one wasn't an ordinary elven warrior. He wore a green tunic and dark brown legging; typically the noble elfs of Northern woods, while the ordinary warriors usually wore grey cape and more armory and they braided their hair in different fashion. Now that's a reason why they kept him alive.

At noon, an orc named Goblog who usually delivered us our meal came in. He brought three bowls of oat porridge with him. The dwarf hurriedly took it and ate, as I did. I did however, manage to steal a glance or two toward the Elvenprince. He did not touch the bowl nor did he care to acknowledge it. He sat there with his back on the wall, all the while his silvery lock fell like waterfall under the spring sun. Simply by gazing at his figure was enough to put a man into a spell. I forgot my meal and practically drooling to enjoy the sight of that creature.

The Elvenprince sat there and did not move an inch. At first I thought he was sleeping, but then I saw his blue eyes peered out from behind dark long lashes. It took some time before the realization down to me; elf slept with opened eyes. Some said they could rest their mind even when they're running through wide prairie. I spent that day musing over this pretty newcomer. I didn't even realize that the night had fall. They usually gave me some weaponry to clean or armory to fix. That night, everything was about to change. I just had not notice. Yet.

As per usual, they would take the new prisoner to the torture chamber and torture them. Once they found him of no use, they would kill and eat the poor prisoner. So, it wasn't a surprise for me when they dragged the Elvenprince out of his secluded cell –of course after they beat him for he despised any of their touch. It's a pity to see the once-flawless skin covered with bruises and cuts. It will heal, I told myself hopefully.

The torture chamber was a huge cold room right across the metal door of our tiny prison. I've been there four or five times. It was a gruesome place to be. Countless torturing instruments lied along the corners. I always loose my consciousness whenever they took me there. I won't tell you what I had suffered there, but I'll tell those of the elf, for you deserve to know about this particular elf.

My ears picked the clinking noise of the chains. They surely had the elf bonded on his wrists high above his head. They started to beat him again, judged from the sound of it. They mercilessly laugh at his suffering. Some mocked him in their disgusting blasted curses, while the others simply laughed and beat him more. By that time, I believed he already had blood all over his body. But I couldn't tell just by the sound, right? Anyway, I could hear one croaked with its ugly voice;

"Still too pretty."

And I could hear the one orc spitted. To the elf's face or to the stone floor I couldn't tell. Personally, I expect it to be the first alternative. All the while, the elf remained silent. With his pride, I took it that he wouldn't give them the pleasure to hear him cry in pain, which just reminded me that I too had not been given the opportunity to listen to his voice.

I heard stepping sound and something heavy being moved, and some grinding noise of metal against stone. Then I heard a scream, a long agonizing scream, accompanied with the sound of crushing bones. Ironically, the first sound of that pretty elf I hear was his painful and chilling scream. I glanced to the old dwarf across me. He froze when he heard the scream. His eyes wide open. He was in terror himself. How could such pretty creature shout out such desperate sound?

More laughters. But one still cursing endlessly.

"Still too pretty!" Said he.

More crushing bones, but no more the scream I heard. The elf had lost control once, and he would be careful not to let anything escape his mouth again. By this time, he must have his back broken, or one of his limbs, or even two.

Then silence.

Suddenly the orcs croaked frantically. I interpreted this as chuckles. A soft gasp. I assumed it belonged to the elf. One of the orc breathed heavily. Did the elf managed to fight back? No way, there were three orcs in there! But one breathed for air, more and more. And I heard moans. Disgusting hoarse moans. Must be from that one orc. Why would he moan in such strange way? I asked myself questioningly. The answer came to me in the most horrible way thinkable.

A deafening scream screeched suddenly. This time, it wasn't the elf's. It was a scream of hellish pleasure, covered in lust. Such pleasure only the most defile monsters could make. The realization was sickening. They did 'that' to him? I couldn't believe it.

They laughed again and mocked him even more. The chains jingled again in unspeakable agony; a sign that their captive was wide awake, and was being humiliated beyond any limit ever drawn. The orcs cheered and cursed again. Practically, I could hear the sound of their knees meet the elf's head or his stomach. Sounds of bone being crushed and the flesh torn filled the dirty prison. Years later, it would still haunt my dreams.

Faithfully, the elf still held his mouth shut. No, whatever wickedness they laid upon him, he would hold his face up and show them the true grace of an Elvenprince. Though, I could hear his breath; short and sounded like uncontrollable fear. It happened to excite the other orc. In horror I listened to this orc slapped the elf's face. And suckling voice. I could imagine this orc, with his bark-like hand grasps the elf by his beautiful silver hair and pulls the irresistibly pretty elf's face close to his own and trails the smooth face with his slimey disgusting tongue; drown in sea of lust.

A grunt. The elf would try his best to bring himself away from the orc. Of course, he would face an utter failure, for once the orc had developed a gruesome idea, he would do it. The naked statuesque form of the elf –looked exactly like some pornographic statuaries, writhing helplessly, bonded, would just excite them more, as toxicating as much as the royal fine wine the Elvenprince used to enjoy back in his safe realm.

Somehow, they choke the Elvenprince. With what, I couldn't bring myself to think of. I shuddered just by the thought of it. The orc groaned cruelly, enjoying the ecstasy. I heard thrust sound and more choking voices from the poor elf. After few minutes filled with croaked cheers, fierce groans and choking sounds, the one orc cried as if reaching his victory. It panted hardly, craving for air.

By the steps, the third orcs were taking his turn. But something fell, with a soft bumping. Two other orcs curses terribly hard and I heard more steps. Ah, they started the beating again. The chain clinked it last sad song. Last for today, because by the sound of the chain, the elf had lost his consciousness.

Later, I would know that although they raped him with hands bounded above, he managed to kill one orc. So they mercilessly beat the living out of him. In terror I saw him as they dragged him back to his cell.

More bruises and cuts. His left face was covered in blood. His body was half naked, as the clothes he had before was torn apart, covered with his own dried blood. The scariest part was his face, glittering with thick grey fluid, as his silvery hair drenched in blood. From his perfectly built neck down to his bare chest, another sticky liquid was visible, as if they watered him by their foul shameless seed. It was thick and dark and disgusting. His dangling left arm suggested broken and fractured bones, which his right fingers also suffered.

Feeling guilty, I eyed him like crazy, to drink his beauty by my vision, for he was as pretty as sin seamed with temptation. Even after those horrible things designed and done upon him, he was the perfection itself. The orcs dumped him inside his cell, adding more wound to his badly wounded body.

It took two days for the Elvenprince to get back to his unwished for consciousness. Should he could, he would choose death over this debauchery deeds.

Since the very first days, it happened on daily basis. Og and Magog, the guards who usually took him, would came and bounded him on his wrists. He resisted, but they would twist his arms or punch his stomach. They would drag him to the torturing chamber, where some other orcs waited for their turn of entertainment. The sight of him reluctantly stepped toward the torturing chamber; eyes harden in anticipation, bounded helplessly with his pale golden flock flowed behind him, was a delicacy for the vile orcs. It formed more unimaginable wickedness in their mind, which was no doubt, would soon be done upon the poor creature.

Sounds that escaped the torturing chamber were songs of hellish singing. The elf's soft sobs and grievance were swallowed mercilessly by the drunken groans, curses, moans, and laughter of the beasts. Once their needs were satisfied, they would scream in painful yet delighted voice, while the elf panted relentlessly. Evidently, they would smear their foul seeds –even his own if there was any –all over the elf's delicate form. They considered beating and physically torturing him was some kind of dessert after they raped him as the main course.

Og and Magog would drag him by his silver hair as he lost his consciousness –which he always did after those cruel sessions –to his secluded cell. Blood and sweat dropped from his limp body, leaving a trail behind him. Goblog the caretaker would come once Og and Magog disappear. He would have a basin of cold water with him. With a wet rag he cleaned the elf's unconscious body, washed it from the disgustingly thick fluid covering the statuesque form and away from sweat and blood. Surprisingly gentle for an orc, Goblog worked on the breathtaking face lastly. Sometimes I envied the beast for being able to touch the elf's perfectly built body. It was obvious that taking care of the Elvenprince's body was Goblog's job, so his fellow orcs could enjoy the elf to the fullest once he had awaken. The ugly orc always finished his job before the elf comes back from his elven blankness. It locked the cell slowly as if afraid to awaken the resting elf. Beside the unmoving body, it had placed a bowl of porridge and a glass of water, the best he could manage for the Elvenprince.

The elf would be awake on the next day. With serene sphere in his surrounding, the Elvenprince sat still in silence grief, as placid as an untouched forest pool. If he mourned for his poor state and ungodly affection of those beasts, he didn't show it. If he prayed to elven gods, I didn't hear it. He was silent as rocky cliffs, as grave as haunted swamps, yet as pretty as secret gardens. I pitied him greatly, though I knew such feeling would add more insults to his invisible wounds. Goblog had put new plain clothes on him, for his clothes from before had always gone, torn in previous session in the hellish chamber.

When the night came, Og and Magog would came, and the devilish cycle continued with different orcs waited in the torture chamber. He gravely braced his destiny with any bravery he still held tight in his tore souls. I could see his blue crystal eyes raged in mixed hatred and fear.

After he survived the first month, I started to wonder, what made the orcs never lose the excitement to toy the Elvenprince. It was the resistance he had. He fought back every time he could, never lose his seemingly lost hope. In just a month as a prisoner, he killed three orcs. It was a mystery as to how, a bounded helpless elf, surrounded by five orcs could kill one of the beasts. Three times. He wasn't a mere elven warrior. I knew, he must be the Elvenprince himself.

In the morning of the second month, after a fierce session with more orcs than usual where even the elf screamed another agonizing painful spite, I found the elf had yet to be awakened. As he had not the next morning. Nor the next one. Even og and Magog failed to wake the elf up.

"Urca used the elf too much." Said Og and chuckled mercilessly.

"The elf's too pretty." Replied Magog and shrugged carelessly. They left after several unsuccessful attempts to wake the Elvenprince.

At the fourth night, I started to worry. Someone –I forgot who –once told me about the ability of elven race to kill their own selves.

"They can trap their soul in their maze-like mind. They need six to seven days of untroubled state to attain this. Once they lost, they're gone. Have you not ever wondering why there is so little elf ever been captured alive?" I remembered someone told me before.

At this realization, I called Goblog. The slow orc had visited there every day, doing its job feeding us. Though he saw the elf's untroubled sleep, he didn't know what it meant, so he merely shrugged it off. I relied on his tender care of the elf. I believed I saw an affection gaze from the ugly orc's eyes toward the sleeping elf. Goblog was the one who could help the elf; to rob him back from the hand of the Death himself.

"Goblog! GOBLOG!" I called in panic. It came in haste, angered by the tone of a mere prisoner. He was about to bang my cell open when I pointed to the elf and cried,

"The elf! Wake him up, or else he's dead!"

I expected him to spare nothing more than a glance toward the elf and leave. I was wrong. Goblog hurriedly ran to the elf's cell and unlocked it. He rocked the elf only to get no response.

"Slap him! Rock him more! Splash him with water!" I told him, dread came over me as I imagine what the prison would be without the sight of that beautiful creature at the corner. So selfish of me, I knew.

The orc did as it was told. Splashing him water worked successfully. A pair of blue orbs shone brightly in the darkness, as Goblog put the elf back. At once, the elf noticed the orc in front of him and grabbed him by the collar. For a millisecond, I feared the elf would kill this orc too, but he did something I didn't expect at all.

"Kill me." The elf said with his crystal clear voice.

His voice was like the silent breeze on top of ancient trees in Mirkwood, so cold, yet so delighting. I could never understand how Goblog must feel to hear those words; the first voice of the one you love ask you to take one's life? Unlike me, who enchanted easily by those simple two syllables, Goblog shook his head ever so slightly. He shuddered under the gaze of the elf's magical blue eyes, an exact imitation of twin forest pools under the winter moonlight. It seemed like the eyes showered the orc with a harmony of words;

'I've endured so much! I've suffered so much! Will you naught pass me the anguish which is about to drawn upon me? Will you not grant me the one thing I've desired so much? Only in death I could free myself of this ungodly torment.

I've seen your true affection to me and I'm grateful to forever by your kindness. You are my only salvation to escape this pit of a hell.'

Those icy blue eyes sent wordless pleas to ones of the orc. His gaze was a series of incantation. I wonder how the orc had not yielded to the wish of this elf with his powerful and demanding will. To my surprise, the orc once again shook his head, though I could see it was shivering greatly. Its body trembled heavily, filled with battle of will inside its mind.

"Elf, you must not die!" It croaked.

The elf shot him a questioning look.

"Goblog will give you freedom. You must live!" And hurriedly, as if afraid it would change its mind; the orc locked the elf and went away.

The elf heaved a desperate sigh. The elf was kind, I knew. He could separate lusty affection like those in Urca's eyes from true affection in Goblog's eyes. The elf never attempted such a thing anymore, he trusted Goblog, the ugly orc, and put his hope on the orc's hand. He still fought like before as the cycle once again started where I had to once again suffer the terrible sounds or torment, and the resistance was there as always, but never again he tried to kill himself. He shared the affection toward the tender orc, and the wordless promise was made.

Two weeks later, a heavily armored Goblog rushed into the prison and carry the unconscious elf by his shoulder. Without stopping, he ran to the other side of the stone fortress (as later one of the orcs told me). Through the window, he threw the Elvenprince's body down, down to the swift stream of a big river far below. The elf would survive it, the orc knew. Goblog was the one who couldn't. By the time it arrived at the window, it had already got two spears and a big rusted sword stuck on its back.

The orcs were terribly mad when they found out what had happened.

"If you like that dirty elf so much, you can join!"

So the orcs slit Goblog's throat and pushed it to the river. Goblog, without doubt, was dead before it touched the water.

There's a myth in the story. It was said that when he was being taken to his freedom, the elf was awake and said something only Goblog could hear.

"I, Trahnduil Oropherion the Elvenprince, owe you, Goblog the Orc, a life. Thank you."

How it turned into a myth when it supposed to be heard by Goblog only surpassed my knowledge.

Thorin's eyes grew extremely wide as he read the scroll in his hands. Gandalf the Grey gave it to him along with the map of Erebor. To the moment he read the word 'Thranduil', he felt a pang in his chest. It brought the memories back.

Years ago, in Erebor, his grandfather King Thror received the coming of Thranduil the Elvenking. Though still in his youth, barely 60 years old, Thorin could tell the perfection in the Elvenking's feature. How he beheld the sight of the Elvenking as the elf bowed slightly in front of the throne. The Elvenking's perfect form was the epitome of deceit, an invitation of veiled temptations.

For nights following that vital day, younger Thorin spent his nights spoiling his hands with his filthy seed as the pretty image of the Elvenking flashed endlessly in his juvenile erotic mind.

Reading this journal was no help at all. The mental image of the Elvenking, bound helplessly in his glorious nudity turn his stomach into melted metal. Quickly, he retired to his bedroom, for there was a need, which begging to be satisfied.


End file.
